The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Mr Daventry shook his head. “The answer is no on all counts.”

He was hiding something.

“You can tell me. You can trust me.” She made the mistake of touching his arm, and he shot back as if she had scorched him with a hot poker. “But this has something to do with my father. Was he assisting you in—” Sybil stopped abruptly as another, far more terrifying, thought took root. “Lord, no! Tell me you don’t suspect my father—”

“Forget my foolish words.”

“But—”

“Forget the comment spoken in haste.”

“You think someone murdered my father. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Panic took hold and squeezed her throat until her voice lost its power. Her knees buckled. Lucius Daventry caught hold of her arm and kept her upright. Tears welled. Covering her mouth with her hand was the only way to stop herself from retching.

Mr Daventry dragged his handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it in her direction. “Don’t cry.”

He waited until she snatched the silk square before turning away. Clearly he had little tolerance for weeping women.

She grabbed his coat sleeve. “I deserve to know the truth.” Water trickled down her cheeks. “If there are doubts surrounding my father’s death, you have no right to keep them from me.”

“Conjecture is not fact,” he said while facing the fireplace. “A theory without sufficient evidence is worthless in a court of law.”

“Then you must believe someone stole into our house to commit this vile deed.”

She had found her father dead in his bed. Having struggled with a weak heart, it was presumed the organ had failed him during the night. That’s what she told the coroner. A choking sob burst from her lips as she recalled his blue lips and grey complexion.

Mr Daventry sighed. With some reluctance, he turned to face her, and she saw another rare glimpse of compassion. “Ignore my theory. I am suspicious by nature.”

“Suspicious only when you have just cause.” She dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief, and the divine scent of his cologne had a bizarre soothing effect on her nerves. “You apply logic to every situation.”

“I have a wild imagination, am prone to moments of fancy.”

The lie rang as loud as a church bell. He was rude and obnoxious, but he always spoke the truth.

“No, I don’t believe that. You’re not the whimsical sort. You’re a man who takes what he wants without compunction.”

“Not everything I want.”

Silence ensued.

Despite the host of questions swarming around in her head, despite the excruciating pain that accompanied thoughts of her father’s suffering, she couldn’t help but wonder what treasure eluded a man as powerful as Lucius Daventry.

“If you do not confide in me now,” she eventually said, “I fear terrible images will haunt me for the rest of my days.” Sybil stared into the storm-grey eyes that often stole her breath. “I shan’t sleep wondering what happened, wondering if there was something I could have done to help him.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” He glanced at the floor as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Your father kept his work private for a reason.”

“It’s the only part of his life he refused to share.”

“As I said, for good reason.” Mr Daventry’s voice carried the wisdom of experience.

Sybil paused as she tried to assemble the pieces of the puzzle. “You assisted him in his quest for knowledge, didn’t you?” It was the only explanation to account for her father’s generous gift. Atticus might not have approved of Lucius Daventry’s immoral pursuits, but he respected his opinion as a colleague and associate.

“I admire intelligence when used wisely.”

Wisel

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